


Until We Meet Again (or Five Times John and Sherlock Shared a Lift and One Time They Didn't)

by vitruvianwatson (keepyoureyesfixedonme)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad Flirting, Blushing Sherlock Holmes, Drunk John, Flirting, Fluff, Greg is a good friend, John Never Stood a Chance, M/M, POV John Watson, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepyoureyesfixedonme/pseuds/vitruvianwatson
Summary: After a night out drinking with his friends, John Watson gets on the lift at his dorm and meets a gorgeous stranger who may or may not be carrying a box containing a human hand.  John isn't really all that fussed about it, possibly because he's very drunk, or possibly because he's already a goner.





	Until We Meet Again (or Five Times John and Sherlock Shared a Lift and One Time They Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST OF ALL, this is a working title. I am so not satisfied with it, but I've been sitting here thinking about it for almost an hour, and I'm just done with that for now. So here we are. The title may or may not change with future updates.
> 
> A couple of other things to take note of here: I took some liberties with this; I don't actually know how university housing in England works, but for the purposes of this story, I needed a very tall building in London to serve as a university dormitory. If that's totally out of the realm of possibility, please do your best to ignore it. :) I also don't have any expert knowledge about medical school, so just take all of that with a grain of salt.
> 
> Other than that, this story is my first foray into the five+one category of fanfic, and I'm really quite excited about it. I can't promise to provide updates on any sort of regular basis (by that, I mean, a definite weekly update); some chapters may take longer than others. However, I do currently have the next month off of school with very little to do other than see friends and family, so I hope to get a lot of this done before February. I haven't planned this story out step-by-step yet, so I can't say for sure whether or not there will be smut involved. It's possible. Mostly, there will be fluff. That's a definite.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this 'cause I really enjoyed writing it! If you're so inclined, you can find me on [tumblr at vitruvianwatson](https://vitruvianwatson.tumblr.com) or on [twitter at the same name](https://twitter.com/vitruvianwatson). Thank you for reading. Comments are loved and cared for. <3

It wasn’t until the bartender handed John his fifth beer of the night that she began to flirt with him. The pub had quieted down some in the past half hour; the game had ended, so all the football heads had wandered out, and the large group of university students that had taken up the entire back corner—ostensibly to celebrate a job well done on some project or another—had finally trickled out, taking with them the last vestiges of overwhelming noise. It was nearing midnight, and John and his buddies were the only ones left besides a few regulars who, John was beginning to suspect, might never actually leave the place.

It was all very accidental on John’s part. He had walked up to the bar and knocked on it cheekily, asking for another round, and, without meaning to, he’d leaned in and given the bartender—Ali, her nametag sad—his most charming smile. (Later, he attributed this mistake to the fact that he was already feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges from a steady flow of beer.)

Ali’s gaze flicked up and down once, a clear and quick perusal, and then her mouth curved in reciprocation. John, completely oblivious to his own drunken body language, was baffled as to why this woman was suddenly eyeing him up. He just took his drink with a ‘Cheers’ and went back to his friends. For the next half hour, he kept feeling her eyes on him, and the fog in his brain wouldn’t let him just ignore it; he had to keep glancing over at her, which was, of course, his second mistake.

“I think she wants to take you home,” said Greg, gesturing towards the bar with his beer before taking another long swig. He winked at John who rolled his eyes.

“She’d be sorely disappointed with me, I think,” he replied dryly.

Greg laughed. “What’d you do to get her to look at you like that? I gotta try it once she realizes you’re a no go.”

“I honestly have no idea,” John said. “I just…asked for a beer.”

It was Greg’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re just a charming fucker, that’s the problem.”

“Believe me, if I’d turned on the charm you’d know it.”

“Oh, I’ve seen you turn on the charm. I just happen to know that you’re often charming even when you don’t mean to be.”

“It’s called being a decent person,” John said. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey, Billy!” Greg called. “Am I a decent person?”

Billy, who had wandered off with Mike when a group of American girls had walked in, already slightly unsteady on their feet, called back from his huddle, “Not even in your dreams!”

Greg made a rude hand gesture, which Billy returned. John laughed at the pair of them and downed the rest of his pint. He spent the next twenty minutes in a bit of a drunken haze, listening to Greg complain about work—he was a security guard at Bart’s, the hospital where John and his med school buddies did their hours—and watching Billy and Mike strike out over and over again. He pointedly didn’t look toward the bar again until he was ready for another drink.

Ali gave him another smile as he swayed his way over, and by the time she was setting his sixth pint down on the bar with one hand she was using the other to grip his collar. His eyes widened when she pulled him in, her lips grazing his ear in a way that was clearly meant to be seductive and, honestly, probably would’ve worked on another (more inclined) man.

“I get off at two.”

John, awkwardly bent over the bar and feeling more and more like he’d missed something, was greatly relieved when she let him go and pulled back. She didn’t give him much room to breathe, however, because the next second she had placed her hand on top of his and lifted her eyebrows in a clear question.

_Yes or no?_

“Right,” he said. He felt terrible because she seemed like a perfectly nice person. “Um, I think maybe I gave you the wrong impression…” he began.

Ali’s hand slipped from his own. “Oh, god, you’re not married, are you?”

“What? No, no, it’s not…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not married, just…not interested.”

“Oh,” Ali said. John waited for her face to fall, for the hurt to set in, or possibly for her to put the pieces together and display her disgust, but he was pleasantly surprised when she just shrugged and said, “All right, then. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

She turned back to her work, and John stared after her for a minute, bemused.

“Well, she doesn’t look devastated,” Greg said when John finally got back to the table.

John made a wavy hand motion that meant…something, he was sure, but Greg wasn’t even paying attention; he was still watching Ali as she poured shots and shared in her customers’ laughter. She really did seem like a decent girl; John still felt a little guilty for making her think he was interested. It seemed luck was in his favor, however, and all she’d been looking for was a good time, no harm done. Definitely an attitude John could get behind. Besides, she _was_ very pretty; it’d be easy for her to find someone else. Greg, for instance.

Fortunately, Greg had only had three beers—John envied his self-control—so he wasn’t leering at her in that gross, drunk way that so many men had perfected.

“Go talk to her,” John said, proud that his words were only _slightly_ slurred. Alcohol had a way of hitting him all at once, especially if he’d been drinking steadily for a few hours. He usually spent a good, long while feeling fuzzy and lightheaded and very relaxed, and then all of a sudden he’d be struggling to put two words together in the right order.

Greg shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m not as charming as you are.”

“I don’t need it!” John said, and then frowned because that didn’t quite make sense yet. He backtracked. “My charm, I mean. I’ve got no one to impress tonight. Here, you have it.” He flapped his hands at Greg as if he thought he could splatter his “charm” all over Greg like paint.

Greg choked on his beer. “Jesus, Johnny,” he said, wiping his face with his napkin, “you’re a fucking hopeless drunk.”

John nodded in agreement. And then nodded some more because it was very true, and the emphasis was just necessary. And then he almost fell out of his chair, and Greg had to steady him, chuckling under his breath.

“C’mon, you lump, let’s get you home,” he said, hoisting John up from his seat.

John stumbled a bit but got his balance. “No, no, no, you go.” He shook his head. “Wrong, I mean, _I’ll_ go. _You_ stay. Talk to…girl.” He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “She gets off at two. Wink wink.”

Greg was bubbling with laughter now. “Smooth, Watson, very smooth.”

John’s grin felt a bit crooked on his face. “I am known for my smooth—smoothity.” He nodded again, positive that he’d definitely said exactly what he meant, but it made it made his head go wobbly, so he stopped.

“I’m not sure I can let you go home by yourself in good conscience, kid,” Greg said, snagging both of their jackets off the hooks by the door. John hadn’t even realized they’d made it that far.

He waved away Greg’s concerns with a limp hand, nearly hitting his friend in the face in the process. “I’m fiiiine,” he said. “I know where I…inhabit.”

Greg cocked his head to one side. “How do you manage to use _more_ complicated words when you’re drunk?”

“Also!” John said as Greg helped him into his jacket. “I am _not_ a child.”

“I never said you were?”

“You did!” John accused, spinning around on his heel so quickly that Greg had to catch him when he inevitably went sideways. “You called me ‘kid!’”

Greg rolled his eyes. “I’ve got eight years on you, I can call you kid.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way.” Greg maneuvered John until he had him propped up against the wall. “Stay there while I go pay the tab.”

“Take my charm with you!” John called after him, and then he got distracted trying to do up the zipper on his jacket. Time was wobbly, so he didn’t know how long he’d been struggling with it when Greg’s feet reappeared. John looked up hopelessly. “I can’t zip it.”

“That’s probably because you have to button it,” Greg said.

John stared down uselessly at his own hands. “Oh.”

“God, you’re a wreck,” Greg said with a shake of his head. He pushed open the door and gestured with a flick of his head. “C’mon, it’s not that cold out anyway.”

John pushed himself away from the wall and made to follow Greg, but then Mike called, “Bye, Johnny!” from across the room, and John, in his enthusiasm to reply, waved far too energetically and lost his balance. He fell backward through the door and found himself sprawled at Greg’s feet, half-in and half-out of the pub. Howling laughter followed him from the direction of Billy and Mike’s table, and John, dizzy and confused, looked up at Greg.

“Greg, why are you upside-down?”

 

* * *

 

The walk home was slow but steady, and Greg kept them on the right track even when John did his best to veer off onto alternate routes.  Greg had to remind him a few times that it was already past midnight and all the shops John was determined to go to were closed. John grumbled and rolled his eyes and loudly proclaimed that all the shops were stupid for closing so early.

It was almost 1:00 am when Greg finally dragged John through the door of his dorm, which was a roomy 35-story building a few blocks down from the hospital.  He lived with one of the other med students in a suite-style flat that was reserved for graduate students. Mike and Billy had been able to afford their own place, but John still found himself pretty tight on cash for the most part, so he’d been forced to take advantage of the school’s generosity.  It wasn’t so bad most of the time, and he was close to school and work. The only times he truly resented his living situation was when the uni students on the floor above his threw raging parties in the middle of the night when he’d already worked a double and was in desperate need of some sleep. Usually, he’d beg Greg to let him sleep on his couch on those nights.

“C’mon, kid, just a little farther and then you can pass out.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna pass out.”

“I’m not sure you’re gonna have much of a choice there.”

John was vaguely aware of the dingy little foyer and its spinning lights—did those lights always spin?—and then they were standing in front of the lift, and Greg was jamming the button, which was cracked from so many years of students pressing it too hard.  The loud clatter of the lift rising from the basement floor jolted John to stand up a bit straighter; he suspected Greg was relieved not to have to carry half his weight anymore, and he graciously said, “You’re welcome,” to which Greg replied with a confused look.  John belatedly realized that Greg hadn’t actually said thank you, and he was on the verge of explaining this very important point when the lift doors creaked open, and John’s brain was derailed by the sight of the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen.

“Holy shit,” he said loudly and definitely without meaning to.  Greg and the guy in the lift both looked at him, Greg’s eyebrows raised in perplexity, the other guy’s coming together in what John assumed was confusion, but there was an edge of defensiveness to the expression that John didn’t understand.

Greg said something, but John was too busy staring at the ridiculous cheekbones and the plump bottom lip and the wild array of dark curls that fell haphazardly over the guy’s forehead. He was sure it wasn’t just because he was drunk; there was no way alcohol could make someone look _that_ perfect. Or that tall.  The guy swallowed, and John watched in something of a trance as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Oi, Watson!”

John jumped and looked back at Greg who was holding the lift doors open and giving John his most impatient face.

“When you’re quite finished, I’m guessing this kid would like to get up to his room.”

 _I’d like to get up to his room,_ John thought, and he was immediately relieved to find that he hadn’t said it out loud.  Instead he just nodded dumbly and stepped onto the lift. Sometimes Greg left him at the lift, trusting that he would be able to make it into his room okay since it was only a couple doors down the corridor.  Other times, he took John all the way to his room, and tonight apparently fell into the latter category. John was pretty sure it was because he was acting like a complete nutter.

The doors slid shut behind Greg, and he pressed the button for John’s floor.  The lift lurched into movement, and John only realized he was still staring like a complete buffoon when the other guy shifted, his eyes darting once to John’s and then away again.  Luckily, the movement brought John’s attention to something he hadn’t noticed before. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was holding a box, poking out of which was an assortment of objects, ranging from the relatively normal—glass test tubes in various sizes—to the decidedly _not_ normal—a bag containing an actual human hand.  Mixed in among these were a blow torch, a container labeled “fungus,” a pair of tongs, and what John was relatively sure was a riding crop.

When John’s eyes rose again from the box—lingering for only a moment to dwell on long, elegant fingers—back to the guy’s face, he noticed that there was now a flush resting high on the sharp cheekbones, and John had a sudden flash of absolute certainty that Tall, Dark, and Handsome was waiting for John to make some sort of rude remark.

“No!” John said, and two gazes turned sharply on him.  He ignored Greg who tried to interrupt and stared intently at the other guy.  “No, no, I wasn’t staring because of your box of…whatever that is. I was just staring because you’re like…literally the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

If it weren’t for the loud creaking of the lift and Greg’s choked laughter, there would have been absolute shocked silence in the lift.  The other guy’s eyes had flown wide, and the blush on his cheeks flamed out to stain the rest of his pale face. John’s gaze automatically dipped down to where that flush disappeared beneath the unbuttoned collar of his nice shirt, and then he mentally slapped himself for being a total creep and blinked rapidly.

“Sorry!” he blurted out, too loudly.  He swallowed and very deliberately lowered his voice.  “I’m not…trying to be a weirdo. I’m just—very drunk, and you’re just…wow.”

Now he was met with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “You—out of the two of us, you think _you’re_ the…weirdo?”

His mouth twisted when he said ‘weirdo’ as if it were beneath him to use such a word, and it took John an embarrassingly long time to answer because this kid’s voice was fucking _unbelievable._  Deep and resonant and so smooth it made John’s mouth water; it didn’t sound like it belonged in that skinny body, but John certainly wasn’t going to point that mistake out to whatever God had put it there.

“Johnny, you’re drooling,” Greg pointed out helpfully.  He was leaning back against the wall, watching this all play out in utter amusement.

John snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat.  “Sorry, sorry, I just—I just meant to…explain. Why I was staring.  Because you look like…” He gestured vaguely in the boy’s general direction, “…that.”

It suddenly occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t be telling this complete stranger how attractive he was.  You never knew how other guys were going to react to that kind of thing. Not that John was worried about being punched with Greg there, but there was still the inevitable guilt and embarrassment that would follow once he woke up in the morning and remembered the disgusted rejection.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome didn’t say anything at first; he just stared at John, his eyes flicking up and down his body in a way that made John think he was being assessed more than being checked out.  Greg had gone a bit still beside him, and John recognized the subtle tension in him. He had found John’s fumbling honesty funny, but now he was waiting for the reaction, his muscles locked in protection mode.  John could hold his own in a fight, but Greg had been pretty handy in sticky situations before. Also, John was still pretty drunk and would probably end up punching the wall and breaking his hand.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome took a deep breath, and John braced himself.

“You’re a medical student, in your second—no, _third_ year, and you had a particularly difficult shift today during which two separate patients threw up on you, one attempted to stab you with a syringe, and another scratched your neck. The need for a drink is understandable after such a day, although I suspect you have some sort of weekly pub night anyway, as that _is_ the sort of thing regular people do, or so I’m told, but that’s beside the point. A girl at the pub attempted to seduce you, but you blew her off, after which your friend here got her number instead, and he fully intends on phoning her once he’s deposited you in your room.”

When he finally stopped speaking—presumably, John decided, because he was out of breath—the silence that followed was punctuated only by the whirring and the clanking of the elevator as it continued its arduous climb.

Eventually, Greg managed to form a question. “Have you guys…met before?”

Talk, Dark, and Handsome ignored this question. He kept his attention focused solely on John and raised one perfectly lovely eyebrow. “Still think you’re the strange one?”

John stared at him hard, partly because it took every effort just to keep his attention on one thing at the moment and partly because he honestly didn’t want to look away. Tall, Dark, and Handsome had those eyes that were a very specific kind of beautiful—they weren’t just one color but a mixture, a swirling blend of blue and green and grey; it was like staring into a whirlpool, one which John was certain he could lose himself in. He was so engrossed that he could even make out a speck of brown, a tiny imperfection in the right eye, lost in a sea of color. He focused on that little speck, letting it anchor him in the present moment.

“That was…” He couldn’t think of the right word. There wasn’t a word strong enough. Or maybe he was just very drunk.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome’s mouth tightened, and he looked away. John felt the loss of that connection like a physical ache.

“Amazing,” he finished lamely and was rewarded by the sharp return of those ethereal eyes to his own.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome shifted the box in his arms and swallowed. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah, _do_ you think so?” Greg chimed in, his voice incredulous.

“Of course it was, it was…incredible. That word isn’t good enough, I’m sorry, I’m usually better at this, but I gave all my charm away to this wanker—“

“Oi, I didn’t ask for it!”

“—and I am also fairy inebriated,” John went on, ignoring Greg’s very rude interruption. “The point is, I think you might actually be a wizard.”

“Like Harry Potter?” Greg supplied.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome made a face. “What’s a Harry Potter?”

John cocked his head. “You’ve never heard of Harry Potter?” He shook his head. “No, never mind, I don’t care. How’d you do that? Who _are_ you? Also.” He turned to Greg. “Do I smell like vomit still ‘cause how did he _know_ that, I took like an hour-long shower! Why didn’t you tell me—?”

“I assure you, you don’t smell like vomit.” The answer didn’t come from Greg, and John’s mouth closed with a click. “And we’re at your floor.”

Right on cue, the lift dinged and the doors slid open. Greg straightened up, pulling John with him toward the exit.

“No, no, wait, I’m not—I need to stay,” John protested, pushing uselessly at Greg’s shoulder. His coordination was shot, and the world spun around him, a nauseating mixture of fluorescent lights, dented metal, and ugly carpet. “Oh Christ, I need to lie down.”

“Can’t do that in a lift,” Greg said cheerily as they stumbled over the threshold into the dimly lit corridor beyond.

The sound of the lift doors closing made him spin back around, searching out those beautiful eyes. “Wait, what’s your name? At least tell me your name.”

Tall, Dark, and Handsome looked back at him, his cheeks still pink and his eyes unreadable. He didn’t say anything, and as the doors slowly slid shut, he lowered his gaze, his chin tipping down, but he wasn’t fast enough because John caught the hint of a smile before it could be properly hidden. Even though he hadn’t gotten his answer, John’s own face broke out into a giddy grin, and he didn’t struggle as Greg manhandled him to his room.

A minute later, he fell gracelessly onto his bed and Greg started untying his shoes when John made zero effort to do so. He was too busy staring up at the ceiling, seeing only sharp cheekbones and curly hair that looked perfect for burying his fingers in.

“I think I’m in love.”

Greg dropped one shoe on the floor and reached for the other. “Sorry, kid, you’re not my type.”

John swatted at him, but the room was dark, and there were at least three different Gregs standing there, so his hand just fell uselessly to the mattress, and he let his eyes drift closed.

“I can’t believe I let you take all my charm away. He must think I’m crazy.”

Greg snorted. “Honestly, Johnny, I think you two might be made for each other.”

John cracked one eye open. “Really?”

“Yep, you’re both absolute nutters.”

John smiled and closed his eye again. “I just wish I’d gotten his name.”

Greg’s sigh was more amused than anything. “You’re such a drama queen. Get some sleep, I’ll see you Monday.”

John lifted one hand and waved in Greg’s approximate direction. “G’night, Greg. And thanks.”

The door closed with a _click_ , and John turned over onto his side, pulling his quilt up to his shoulders and burying his face in his pillow. He fell asleep thinking about a certain soft smile, wondering if he’d ever see it again. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, there was a piece of paper taped to his door, and on it was written in thin, black script:

_Until we meet again. -W.S.S.H._


End file.
